As
the weeks fly by, native Bolognese have become more and more entrenched into my
day-to-day life. A few examples…
Max is still a constant figure in our lives. We go to his bar to
get a cappuccino and a pastry any morning that we have class and he’s gotten
very comfortable teasing us and calling us his “ragazze”. He is still trying to
set Skyla up with one of his two sons that also work at the bar and most of his
other regular patrons know who we are now—that large crowd of American girls
that orders three cappuccino’s, one café lungo and one café macchiato, and all
of our individual pastry orders that Max knows by heart.
The old vegetable couple belong to the little vegetable stand along
Via San Vitale, the street that leads
to my studentato, in which tables of
vegetables and fruit line the street and the open-air store. They are also
helped by a young man who is either their grandson or their
vegetable-apprentice. I now only buy my fruits and veggies from them and refuse
to buy them at the grocery store, as they are both better quality and cheaper. This also encourages me to
cook more and cook healthier. I made the mistake of trying to pick out my own
vegetables…a big no-no. The old lady yelled at me pretty harshly but we have an
understanding now: I tell her what I want and I get all of my fruits and
veggies packaged neatly for me in brown paper bags. We’ve progressed to very
basic conversations about the weather and I really like having “my place” to go
to.
The leprechaun man is the cutest, tiniest man I have ever
encountered. We call him the leprechaun man because he is less than half my
height and wears a long green tweed jacket and a fedora hat. He shuffles down Via San Vitale with a long cane and
deep-set wrinkles that frame eyes that watch carefully as you walk by. Old
people here have incredibly interesting faces and it’s always a welcome sight
to see him in the morning, making the same (albeit much slower) trek as us
towards the center of the city.
The staff of Gelatauro by
now know me. This gelateria is
certainly not the best gelato I’ve
ever had, but it’s just a two minute walk from my apartment and all the gelato
is “slow-food”; that is, super organic and snazzy and with funky flavors like
“Principe di Calabria”: jasmine, cream, and sponge cake. Or, our personal
favorite, “Regno delle Due Sicilie”: pisctachio, Spanish cream (whatever that
is), pine nuts, and sponge cake (again). Ahhh! So good. There’s one particular
employee there, a sassy gelateria girl,
who definitely judges me based on how much gelato I ate in one 48-hour window.
It’s okay. Deep down, I know we’re best friends.
The staff of BomboCrepe also knows me and the majority of the other
American girls really well. I guess there is a pattern to this…all of the
locals I seem to be getting to know are somehow connected to food. But
BomboCrepe is a favorite because they make crepes with everything. My personal favorite? Nutella and strawberries. The
standing-room-only creperia is just a
few feet away from ECCO’s office and on the weekends is open till around 3 am.
These people, unlike Gelatauro, do not judge me when I come in for my nutella
fix.
No comments:
Post a Comment